by Jason Pinter
The stage was set for a memorable night.
Attendance were free to the public, available only through the Griggs campaign website. All twenty-thousand tickets had been snapped up in less than two minutes. The resale market was burning up, with eBay and StubHub offering “Griggs Bowl” tickets for upwards five hundred dollars a pop.
Kapinski had sent out a press release touting the overwhelming demand for the event. Rawson had spent the week taunting the “Rancid National Committee” all week on social media. He relished the first RNC debate would take place in a musty college auditorium, while the enormous Hollywood Bowl would be filled to capacity.
“Rawson Griggs wants to unshackle the potential of the American people,” the release said, “and tonight, at this historic venue, Rawson Griggs will unleash the beast in all of us.”
Rebecca Blum and Phillip Costanzo had stayed behind in New York to run the pre- and post-game show, which would stream live from the Castle. Blum and Costanzo were acting as hosts. Over a dozen guests were scheduled to make appearances, including a Super Bowl champion quarterback, his coach, an Oscar-winning actor—back in 1989, but still—a Grammy-winning country singer, businessman Peter Havana, star of the hit reality show Money Piranha!, and the cover girl from the 2003 Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Rawson wanted the rally and broadcast to resemble a sporting event more than a political event. Even Remy had to admit: you’d have to be a masochist to watch the Republican debate over Griggs TV.
The sky was a gorgeous, molten orange, casting a golden hue over the dome as the event staff prepared for the event. Adorning the stage were, by Remy’s count, twenty American flags. A banner hung from speakers that read ALL BEASTS WELCOME! The lettering was as tall as Remy himself.
He stood at the back of Promenade 3, far enough away to be able to view the entire arena. Kapinski and Murphy walked the stage surrounded by technicians and security guards.
With the Griggs TV component, it was imperative everything ran on time. Delays and technical glitches were unacceptable. In just a few hours, the arena would be packed with Griggs supporters from around the country, and millions more would watch from their computers and mobile devices.
Remy had no idea what to expect.
The RNC had half-heartedly asked Rawson to reschedule. But given the turmoil surrounding the Bertrand withdrawal, that was like an umbrella asking a tsunami to help keep it dry.
It was an odd feeling, Remy thought, roaming an empty twenty thousand seat arena. Counting Griggs staff, security, and stagehands from the IATSE Local 33 union, there were fewer than a hundred people inside the Bowl.
Looking out over the Bowl, Remy thought about the early days of the campaign. Back when excitement coursed through his veins, when he woke up every day with a sense of purpose. He relished the attention, the fame, the influence he wielded. It was intoxicating.
Until it wasn’t anymore.
The violence that had, months ago, seemed like the isolated plotting of two demented, radicalized young men now felt like it might be part of something far more sinister and calculated. And he was having a very hard time believing, after what Rimbaud and Michael O’Brien told him, that Rawson’s hands were clean.
The line waiting to get into the arena was the length of several city blocks. Remy had never seen anything like it. Rawson’s rallies had always been well attended, but this was something else. This was political Woodstock. ComicCon for America.
Men and women—and even babies—wore all sorts of colorful costumes. Men came dressed as Lincoln, Washington, JFK. Women dressed as Martha Washington, Jane Adams. And JFK. Babies wore hairpieces that made them look like miniature Ronald Reagans. Thousands brandished signs proclaiming their love for Rawson Griggs and America, usually in that order.
“Incredible, isn’t it?”
Remy turned to see Rawson Griggs standing next to him. They watched the endless stream of ticketholders filing in, filling the arena.
“It is,” Remy said.
“This country has never seen anything like this,” Rawson said. “Reagan. JFK. Obama. They all had ceilings. They were shackled by the limits of their party. We have no ceiling. No limits. My whole life, I’ve broken down walls and barriers nobody ever thought were breakable.”
Remy nodded. When Rawson said things like that, and truly believed it, Remy felt that fire burning in his gut. Seeing thousands of hopeful people marching inside was an awesome sight to behold. Rawson was right. This was a movement. But he couldn’t shake the notion that there was a dark undercurrent to it. That he still didn’t know the full truth. The full scope of what Rawson had done. Or what he could do.
“Do you ever wonder what you’re doing here?” Rawson said.
“I’m working the event,” Remy said. “Like you asked.”
“Not here here,” Rawson said. “You’re being too literal. I mean here. With me. On this journey.”
“Oh,” Remy said. He considered Rawson’s question. “I think about it all the time. I think about the night I met Alena and Paul. That if I’d stayed for one more drink at the bar, maybe met a girl, or just waited ten more minutes, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
“It’s strange how the universe works,” Rawson said. “I’m a believer, Jeremy. I believe that things happen for a reason. If you’d had that drink, my daughter might not be here either. Someone up there wanted you on that street at that moment. And now you’re here. Just like someone up there wants me to lead this movement. I believe fate had a hand in all of it.”
“I’ve always had a hard time putting stock in fate,” Remy said. “I think people should take responsibility for their actions. Fate gives them an excuse not to.”
“You’re speaking about your mother,” Rawson said. “Your father. I know about them both.”
“Maybe I am,” Remy said.
“You don’t want to believe fate was responsible for what your father did to your mother. You want to believe he was capable of stopping it. There’s an anger that weighs you down with every step you take.”
Remy nodded. He felt his hands shaking.
“I understand that. I used to have that anger. I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t able to buy whatever I wanted. Persuade whomever I wanted. Have whatever I wanted. I’m on the verge of achieving something that has never taken place in the history of this great nation. And yet, I couldn’t have the one thing that can’t be bought.”
“Liliana,” Remy said.
Rawson put his hands on Remy’s shoulders and turned him around so they were face to face.
“One day,” Rawson said, “you could be a leader of men. Do you ever think about that?”
“I do,” Remy said. “I have.”
“Let me tell you a story,” Rawson said. “A fable, actually.”
“A fable?”
“Humor me,” Rawson said. “There once was a lioness who lived in the jungle. One day, that lioness gave birth to a healthy baby lion. That small lion was her pride and joy. But one day, on a hunt, the little lion got lost and ended up amongst a herd of sheep. The young lion could not find his mother, so he ended up traveling along with the sheep herd. Months passed. The lion learned to walk with the sheep, eat among the sheep, drink among the sheep. Live among the sheep. Somewhere deep down, the lion knew he was just a little bit different from the sheep. But since he’d been living among them for so long, acting like a sheep was all he knew. In his mind, this lion was a sheep.”
Rawson’s grip on Remy’s shoulders tightened.
“Then one day, an older lion came upon the herd of sheep and decided he’d eat one of them for dinner. But to his surprise, as he approached, he saw a young, strong lion walking among the sheep. As the older lion bounded towards the herd, the younger lion, thinking he was a sheep, ran for his life. The older lion chased the young lion all the way to a riverbank, where the young lion stopped and begged for mercy. ‘Don’t eat me,’ the young lion said, ‘I’m just a poor sheep.’ But the older lion said, ‘Lo
ok. There. In the water.’ The young lion looked, and he was shocked to see that the reflection in the river looked just like the older lion. The older lion told the young lion to roar. The young lion hesitated. The old lion repeated the order. Finally, the young lion reached deep down and let forth a roar that shook the very ground. And, finally, the lion realized just who, and what, he was.”
“You’re saying I’m the young lion,” Remy said. “And you’re the older lion. And you pulled me from the sheep herd and showed me who I was. The beast.”
Rawson shrugged. “Every fable is up to interpretation,” he said. “When I learned who you were, I made it my job to know everything I could about you. Were you really some random hero? Or was it, perhaps, fate that you were there that night?”
“And what did you learn?”
“There are many similarities between us. Many young men have ambition. Few of them can actually achieve it. With you, I saw the potential for achievement. But you still needed that push. When you joined my campaign, you got it. And your potential grew. You’re not yet thirty. Your opportunities are limitless.”
“Why do I feel there’s a but coming.”
Rawson smiled. “But you chose not to tell me you met with Doug Rimbaud.”
Remy’s blood went cold.
“How…”
“Part of the reason I got to where I am is because I know everything about everyone who works for me. I’ve known about Rimbaud for a long time. And yet I’ve allowed you to stay here.”
“I wasn’t sure whether to tell you,” Remy said, stammering. “I thought if I told you, then…”
“I might think you were working both sides? Or that Rimbaud told you Paul Bracewell was passing along confidential information to Annabelle Shaw’s campaign?”
“I didn’t want you to think I even considered that insanity worth your time,” Remy said. He was panicked, trying to stay ahead of Rawson’s questioning. How does he know what Rimbaud told me about Paul?
“And if you really do know everything, you know I spoke with Rimbaud once. Only once, and he came to me. And that’s last time I speak to him until we get that call from Annabelle Shaw’s campaign conceding the election.”
“Paul was a complicated man,” Rawson said. “Marrying my daughter was the worst thing to ever happen to him. Paul was insecure. Paranoid. At the slightest touch, he shattered like a dropped glass on concrete. Paul and my daughter, they weren’t right for each other. It took them too long to realize it. I always saw Alena with someone who had more…ambition. A lion. A lion understands that for his pride to survive, he’ll often have to do things that may appear vicious. But when it comes to survival, nothing is vicious. Survival is its own justification. Winning this election, to me, is survival.”
“Paul could have survived,” Remy said. “We could have helped him.”
Rawson smiled, as though humoring Remy’s naiveté. “Some people can handle being part of a pride. Some people cannot. They fall behind. You saw Paul with your own eyes, that night at the Hyatt. He was desperate for an escape. He killed himself to find it, and he was sucking the life from my daughter while doing so. As soon as you put yourself in a situation where you need to be saved, you alone are responsible for your fate. I never asked you to save Paul. I asked you to be there for my daughter.”
“And I have been,” Remy said. “I’d go to the ends of the earth for her.”
“Strangely,” Rawson said, “I believe you.”
“But I still feel guilty about Paul.”
“Guilt is a fake emotion,” Rawson said. Rawson moved his right hand from Remy’s shoulder until it was just underneath his chin. Remy tried to pull away, but Rawson was impossibly strong, his fingers pressing into the flesh of Remy’s neck. Hard enough to increase his pulse. “You’re still here because I think you still have some value, and because my daughter cares about you. But if you speak to any other campaign, or discuss confidential information with anyone not authorized by me, not only will you be off my campaign, I will destroy you in every way you can imagine. Remember what I said about survival, and if you stand in the way of my pride. Trust me, Jeremy. I will make you wish you’d stayed in that bar.”
Remy pulled away, breathing hard. A shiver ran down his spine.
“Now, enjoy the evening. It’s almost show time.”
Remy watched Rawson walk off, the knot of fear in his gut confirming that Rawson Griggs had just threatened his life.
Remy had seen Bruce Springsteen. Twice. He’d been smothered and nearly trampled at shows at Terminal 5, gotten drunk, once, at the Viper Room, seen Beyoncé at Madison Square Garden with Nicole, the spunky redhead. He’d been smushed among the masses down the Canyon of Heroes the last time the Yankees won the World Series—also, the last time anyone cheered for Alex Rodriguez. But he’d never seen anything quite like the crowd that was packed into the Hollywood Bowl to see Rawson Griggs.
Twenty thousand souls jammed together to see perhaps the most famous man in the world. This was a policy speech like Woodstock was a poetry slam. The pre-game show began broadcasting from Griggs Tower at precisely the moment the television networks began their coverage. The chyron called it “Castle Cable News.” It was streaming live on Rawson’s Facebook page, Twitter, and was being carried on the homepage of every major network. A dozen Griggs surrogates live-tweeted the “coverage” using the hashtag #GriggsTV. Rawson was pleased when his show began trending above #GOPDebate.
A half dozen warm-up acts pumped up the crowd before the main event. Thousands of Griggs supporters danced and partied to patriotic rock songs, the night sky lit up by cell phone screens.
Remy worked the crowd, shaking hands, taking selfies, and giving autographs. It felt like he was walking around in someone else’s body. And through it all, he could feel Rawson’s hand on his throat, those words reverberating in his head.
I will make you wish you’d stayed in that bar.
Remy saw Alena standing among a group of older women. She was wearing a denim jacket with black leggings and gold hoop earrings: full on rock chic. She was the perfect combination of adorable and sexy. One of the women held a cell phone above them. She narrated into the camera, likely taking a video or posting on SnapChat. Remy walked by, careful not to interrupt, but one of the women, wearing a red MAMA BEAST hat, saw him and screamed like she’d won the PowerBall.
“Jeremy Stanton!” she shouted, hands going to her heart. “Oh my goodness. Carol, Rita, look!”
The other women spun around. The woman with the cell phone ran up to Remy, put a meaty arm around his waist, and said into the camera, “Y’all, I don’t even know what to say. I’m here with an honest to god American hero. Mr. Jeremy, say hello please.”
“Hello please,” Remy said, offering a wide smile for the camera.
The woman leaned in close to the camera and whispered, “I’m a little embarrassed to say this but I think I might have accidentally touched this cute boy’s butt.”
“Careful,” Remy said, “I might have to call security.”
“Oh, and he’s funny too!” Shirley said.
The other women laughed. One said, “Shirley, he’s about as old as your son.”
The camerawoman, Shirley, shushed her friend and said, “Nobody needs to know that! Mr. Jeremy, can I get a kiss?”
“Absolutely.” Remy planted a big smacker on the woman’s cheek, and she beamed like it was her wedding day. Remy could see Alena watching them, smiling.
“Well, look at that, I got kissed by a hero,” Shirley said.
“Just don’t tell Dale!” her friend shouted.
“Shush. Dale wouldn’t know a kiss if it came with instructions.”
Shirley turned the phone off and put it in her purse. “Thank you from the bottom of our hearts, Mr. Stanton. This night really just…I don’t even know what to say. We’re just so glad you’re going to help Mr. Griggs get elected president. We need to put people back to work and bring our jobs back and get everybody to stop fighting w
ith each other. My husband worked at an air conditioning plant outside Indianapolis for twenty-two years. Well, last April they closed the plant and sent all those jobs to Mexico. I believe Mr. Griggs can bring those jobs back and keep Americans working here.”
Remy felt a wave of guilt. This woman had put her hopes and dreams on Rawson. And deep down, Remy had started to wonder if he was exploiting them.
“Ma’am,” he said, “that’s exactly why I joined Mr. Griggs’s campaign. I want that too. Thank you so much for coming tonight, from the bottom of my heart. And tell Dale not to worry. There’s no competition.”
He hugged Shirley, who ran off to gloat to her friends. Remy watched them, conflicted.
“I had no idea you liked older women,” Alena said, playfully nudging him with her shoulder.
“Only if they’re older and married and know how to use SnapChat better than I do.”
“One of Kapinski’s people set me up with an account. All I want to do is learn how to use that filter where you get bunny ears,” she said. Alena looked out at the massive stadium, the sea of people. All there because they believed in her father. “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”
“It is. What that woman said, about what she’s hoping Rawson can do…that’s why I’m joined him. Joined you both.”
“It wasn’t the money?” she said.
Remy laughed. “The money wasn’t bad. You know, it meant a lot to me that you asked me to walk with you today. Especially since you went against your father. Couldn’t have been easy.”
“Sometimes I need to reaffirm that I have a say in what happens. Even to myself.”
“Do you believe in this? In him?”
“I do,” she said softly. “And I understand why other people do too.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “My father has never failed at anything. He came from nothing. And now look at this. Winning is a drug to him. It’s not in his DNA to lose. He’d rip his own heart out before he did.”
